


you've never looked more beautiful

by DemonSquipster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Christmas Tree, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I Don't Even Know, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Post-Season/Series 12, Romantic Fluff, Snow, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 19:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/pseuds/DemonSquipster
Summary: I suck at summaries s oKetch and Mick have a nice Christmas time the end that's the whole fic





	you've never looked more beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> ft. my badly written 3 am smut

Christmas had never meant much to Mick. To be fair, he’d never had cause to celebrate - not just Christmas, but celebrate in general. In the British Men of Letters, there was nothing to celebrate. Now that he was finally free, he could celebrate whenever he wanted. Sure, there had been Christmas parties with the Men of Letters, but that wasn’t really ever Christmas-based; those parties were nothing more than people getting together to get drunk and hope that maybe you made some sort of mistake and didn’t go home alone. The last time he’d ever really celebrated Christmas was before his parents died, and he hardly remembered what that was like.

 

_ “One day, Mick, I’ll give you the Christmas you deserve,” _ Ketch had told him, years ago, back at Kendricks. At the time, Mick had dismissed as nothing more than stupid childhood promises. There was a part in him that had desperately wanted Ketch to keep true to that, but he knew that would entail leaving the British Men of Letters, and there was only one way out.  _ Death _ . Yet he’d made it out, even if he used the only way out.

 

He couldn’t get over the fact that he had died, and managed to come back. That didn’t happen to people like him. That happened to people like Sam and Dean Winchester. But his heart was still pumping in his chest, and his soul was intact. He wondered what the Men of Letters would say, if they saw him alive. He wondered what Hess would say.

 

If Mick was being honest, her death was bittersweet. It was great that she was dead, but he was furious about the fact that it had not been a British Man of Letter - someone who had suffered at her hands - and that she hadn’t suffered herself. He had been shot in the head. (He remembered the splitting, indescribable pain that had sliced through his skull, but he had hardly enough time to truly process it before everything turned dark.) Ketch had been the one to catch Mick up on everything, and he could tell by the look in his eyes - Ketch had wanted her to suffer as well. While Mick could agree and understand that, he couldn’t deny that the glint in Ketch’s eyes had unsettled him. There was something  _ inhuman  _ about it. Something dark, twisted, and predatory, and Mick wanted nothing to do with it. The smile that came with it was artificial, and made Mick’s stomach churned. It hadn’t quite reach his eyes, and Mick had to force himself to look away. Fortunately, that look faded rather quickly, but Mick couldn’t shake it from memory. 

 

However, it was easy to rather temporarily forget when Ketch was acting so caring and considerate towards him. At least he’d kept his promise about the Christmas thing.

 

Mick was relieved when Ketch returned to their  _ temporary _ home in Hungary, and was (selfishly) grateful when Ketch had decided to just mail the damn hyperbolic pulse generator to the Winchesters. He had rather liked them, but Ketch had asked to just let them believe that he was dead. It was too late to keep up that facade with Ketch, and they already knew about his Resurrection Seal. It wouldn’t nearly be as difficult to fake his death with them as it had been with the British Men of Letters though. 

 

Before Ketch had gone back to America to search for Rowena, Mick had felt a sense of unease about Ketch going back, and he had been right _. _ Ketch had gone and gotten himself involved back in the world of Winchester drama, and gotten himself stuck with a Prince of Hell, and gotten tortured in another  _ universe-  _

 

When he had shown back up to Mick, he had been bloodied and bruised, and Mick had been enraged. Thankfully, it didn’t take terribly long for his wounds to heal, although Mick noted that the angel blade wounds were bad enough to scar over. Ketch had just shrugged it off.  _ “Another few to add to my little collection,”  _ he had joked. Mick had just sighed out of frustration, and moved on. He knew better than to argue with Ketch at this point - it’d just get him nowhere. 

 

The future Mick had imagined for them when they were younger… he never expected anything like it to come true. 

 

Ketch extended an arm out to Mick, and Mick took the hook of the ornament and placed it on one of the tree branches. “How about this… here?” Ketch suggested, placing a red one a few branches to the left of the blue one Mick hung on the tree. Mick just simply nodded in response, grinning. He turned to watch Ketch’s concentrated face as he carefully hung more ornaments up. He hadn’t realised he was staring until Ketch caught him, and held out a blue one. 

 

Mick was silent for a moment, before taking it. “Where do you want this?” He felt Ketch wrap his arms around him, and relaxed into it as Ketch took Mick’s hand and hung the bauble on the tree. The lights were already on it, and Mick walked over to sit down on their couch to watch as Ketch finished up, hanging ornaments until there was no room for anything more. Everything else had been decorated earlier, and it felt nice to finally be  _ done _ . “Arthur, why don’t you sit down?” Ketch glanced over his shoulder, noting the way Mick gestured to the empty seat beside him. He opened his mouth to argue, but Mick just shot him a frustrated look, and he sighed and shut his mouth. 

 

Ketch stepped away from the tree and sat down next to Mick, and felt comfort in the way Mick’s head immediately rested on his shoulder. The tree had been up for a rather long time - they’d just never gotten around to actually decorating it. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and Mick would hate leaving it undecorated, even if it was only going to be decorated for a day or so. 

 

“Do you like it?” Ketch asked, wrapping an arm around Mick’s shoulders. “It’s… wonderful, thank you, Arthur.” Ketch felt a smile tug at the ends of his lips at Mick’s response. “Good.” They sat like that for a moment longer, before Ketch stood up. “Where are you going?” Confusion found its way into Mick’s features as his eyes stayed steady on Ketch. The taller man didn’t respond, and instead he walked into their room and came back out with a large, blue blanket. He tossed it onto Mick’s head, and headed past him towards the kitchen. He showed back up with two mugs in his hands, and he extended one out to Mick. “Thank you,” Mick said, taking the warm mug. “Hot chocolate,” he realised, laughing. “Too cliche?” Ketch asked, chuckling.

 

“Not at all. It’s perfect,” he replied, and placed a quick kiss on Ketch’s cheek. Mick nearly laughed at the look of utter surprise that shot through Ketch’s features, and he lifted the mug to take a drink. It felt hot against his lips, and scorching as it went down his throat, but it was good. Ketch set down his mug, and grabbed the blanket. He wrapped it around them, and Mick impulsively scooted himself up against Ketch.

 

Ketch’s arm found its way back around Mick’s shoulders, and Mick took another drink from the mug in both of his hands. Ketch’s other free arm clicked a remote to shut off the lights - the only things illuminating the room was the television, playing some festive movie Mick wasn’t paying attention to, and the fairy lights strung up on the tree, lighting up Ketch’s face. Mick was certain that it was lighting up his own face, but he didn’t care. He was too focused on Ketch to really notice. 

 

Mick rested his head back on Ketch’s shoulder, and he tried to pay attention, he really did, but he couldn’t help but continue to look over at Ketch’s face. His concentrated features were just  _ so much more interesting _ , oh, and the way Ketch’s eyebrow arched when he was paying attention, it practically melted Mick. It was just so nice and relaxing to focus on Ketch like that. 

 

Mick was wearing one of Ketch’s oversized sleep shirts, and Ketch’s torso was bare. He would hardly let anyone see his body like that, let alone touch him, but Mick was glad that he had been kind enough to let him see. He’d let Mick, he’d let Toni, and he’d let Mary. 

 

Mary had bothered Mick more than Toni, but he figured that was because he  _ trusted _ Toni. Mary? He had thought she was nice enough, and it wasn’t as if she would have done it had she known about Ketch’s relationship with Mick. He also knew that it had just been a precaution to keep Hess off of their backs with suspicion and questions - but at the end of the day, it had been nothing more than unnecessary and a mistake. Now Ketch’s current relationship with Sam and Dean had been rather severed, because they still saw him as the ruthless monster he’d had to be for the British Men of Letters, but now they also see him as the man who screwed their mom.  _ Great _ . 

 

Mick could feel himself dozing off on Ketch’s shoulder, so he leaned forward to set down his mug on the coffee table in front of them, before resuming his position on Ketch. He was stuffed with food from their dinner - if he was being honest, he might have eaten too much - and he was just so warm and comfortable, and _safe_ \- it was the safest he’d ever felt in a very long time. As a Man of Letter, he’d always had to keep on his feet, and he’d always had to stay alert. Now? He could finally relax, and he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out about them being together. The British Men of Letters weren’t stupid enough to come back to the United States with Sam and Dean Winchester breathing, which was quite relieving when it came to Ketch going back to the States, but he also knew one thing - their main focus would be conquering America, especially with Lucifer and Michael and the Winchesters roaming around, so they’d hardly pay any sort of attention to mentions that someone who looks like the British Men of Letters’ favourite _deceased_ killer was spotted roaming around Hungary, or whispers that perhaps maybe the ever-so-feared Arthur Ketch was still alive, slicing and dicing monsters throughout Europe. (Once upon a time, the idea of Ketch being feared might have made Mick laugh, but now? After everything he’s seen? He understood, but he knew that he himself had nothing to fear. Ketch would never _dare_ try anything to harm him, especially based upon the way he’d beaten himself up over Mick’s death.) 

 

Mick’s eyes had wandered over to the crackling fireplace that Ketch had lit earlier in the night after they had gotten back from inside. He’d convinced Ketch to go take a walk with him and -

 

_ The snow crunched under their shoes, which left footprints behind them. When was the last time they’d been able to be so careless? If someone were to find these prints, they would most likely ignore them, or perhaps even wonder who had left them - as Mick usually did. Of course, no one would ever be able to guess what kind of people had left these tracks. They had gotten a few wary looks from people passing by during their whole time in Sopron, but he figured most people just assumed them to be friends. They didn’t hold hands in public or really do anything of the sort, but Mick didn’t mind. He just wanted to hold Ketch’s hand in at least private.  _

 

_ Ketch had urged Mick to bundle up so they didn’t freeze, and Mick might have cracked jokes about it at the time, but he appreciated Ketch’s efforts now that they were actually out.  _

 

_ He had been walking behind Ketch, trailing close behind so that Ketch wouldn’t notice whenever Mick bent down to scoop up small handfuls of snow. After a few scoops, he started balling it up, and stopped walking. “Hey, Ketch,” he said, and launched the ball as Ketch turned. He laughed at the look of sheer shock that flooded Ketch’s featured, and watched as a smile stretched across Mick’s face. “You’re on, Davies,” he hollered in return, and scooped up a handful of his own. They shot a couple of snowballs at each other, attempting to run and duck from each other as shouts of laughter and cheer emitted from both of them. It was nearly empty where they were, but Mick caught sight of a few passerby laughing and trying to get away from them. _

 

_ Mick was trying to run, but he slipped on a slick patch of ice, and slammed right into Ketch’s body. He noticed Ketch trying to catch them both, but he failed, and they both went spirling into the ground. Ketch’s cheeks were flushed pink from the frosty air, and his eyes were shining. The freezing snow residue in his hand was melting from the warmth radiating through his glove, and he hardly noticed. His focus was entirely on Ketch. Stray snowflakes were caught in Ketch’s hair and lashes, and they dusted his shoulders like sugared icing and fuck, when was the last time he’d ever truly noticed Ketch’s beauty? Ketch’s lips were parted and Mick nearly leaned in and kissed him, but Ketch spoke up before he managed to. “We should get home, clever boy. You’re shivering.” They both were. Ketch quickly jumped up, and Mick wrapped a numb hand around Ketch’s as Ketch helped him up.  _

 

_ They walked home in comfortable silence, unsure of what to say. When they got back inside, Ketch immediately started stripping down, and Mick followed. Years ago he would have turned red and averted his eyes, but he was comfortable with Ketch’s body by now. They put on dry pyjamas, and that’s when Ketch suggested decorating the tree.  _

 

Mick glanced out the window and watched the snow drift down. He smiled, remembering how Ketch looked earlier. He was just so happy and content, and- 

 

“Look up.” He heard Ketch whisper, hot against his ear, and he looked up. Ketch was holding up something, and Mick had to stare at it a moment before he understood. “Mistletoe? Really?” Mick laughed, and rolled his eyes. “If you don’t like my mistletoe, then fine, I’ll-” Ketch froze mid-sentence as he was interrupted by the sudden sensation of Mick’s lips against his own. After they split, his arm fell down to his side, and he set down the mistletoe on the coffee table beside Mick’s mug. “I liked that,” he commented. Mick let out a huff of laughter, and kissed Ketch again. 

 

It didn’t take long before their kisses escalated, and Mick felt Ketch tugging at his clothes. He nodded against Ketch’s lips, and Ketch pulled him in for a quick, sloppy kiss before pulling back and pushing Mick’s shirt up over his head. “Good,” Ketch mumbled as he left a trail of kisses down to Mick’s neck. Ketch’s lips met with  _ that  _ sensitive spot on Mick’s neck, and he let out a small gasp. He felt Ketch sucking and his teeth grazed there, and he reached up to nestle a hand in Ketch’s hair. Ketch could feel the soft sting of Mick’s stubble rubbing against his face, and he  _ loved it _ . Ketch didn’t stay on Mick’s neck for long, however, and instead started moving down Mick’s body, sucking at spots there too, and  _ biting _ \- Ketch let out a hum of appreciation as he moved. Mick noticed that Ketch’s hands were working on getting Mick’s pants off, and he lifted up his hips off of the couch to assist him. 

 

When Mick was down to his boxers, he pushed Ketch off of his body to start working at his clothes, and Ketch let it happen. When Ketch was stripped down to the point that Mick was at, Mick ran a hand gently between Ketch’s legs. He was already half-hard, and Mick could feel himself thickening in his underwear. Mick pulled off Ketch’s underwear, and tossed it to the side. He felt Ketch push him, and Mick fell onto his back. Ketch settled himself in between Mick’s legs, and Ketch needily grabbed at Mick’s boxers, tearing them off of his legs. Mick considered teasing Ketch, but couldn’t bring himself to do it when Ketch’s tongue made contact with his cock. 

 

He let out a sharp breathy gasp, and he gripped onto Ketch’s hair. “Good lad.” He heard Ketch mumble, and he watched as Ketch started to take him in -  _ too  _ far, because he heard a soft gag coming from Ketch, and the man eased up. He relaxed, letting the warmth of Ketch’s mouth spread through him. The heat pooling low only grew, and he couldn’t  _ focus _ . Ketch’s head was bobbing, and he was moving  _ fast _ , and fuck, Mick couldn’t keep still. His hips bucked up, and he heard Ketch choke. He nearly apologised, but he felt Ketch’s hands move up from his thighs to his hips, and Ketch grabbed tight and pushed him down. Pain bloomed in his hips, but he couldn’t distinguish it between the pleasure blossoming in between his legs. 

 

The quiet grunts that had been emitting from Mick’s mouth turned into full-blown moans, and he didn’t bother trying to keep it back as he would have previously. Ketch’s name slipped from his lips, and it didn’t matter to him. It felt good and  _ right  _ and he didn’t want to stop. Everything felt so fucking  _ good _ , he felt ready to snap-

 

Mick felt Ketch pull off with a pop, and he looked up at Mick with a wicked grin across his face. It took Mick a moment to process what was happening, but when he did, it hit him hard. 

 

“Arthur, you fucking bastard, I don’t want to play your games tonight,” he hissed, trying to buck up as emphasis, but he couldn’t move his hips as Ketch pushed him further into the cushion. “You know what I want to hear.” If he  _ really  _ wanted Ketch to stop, he could just say the word, and Ketch would step back without question. But he didn’t. He wanted Ketch to go back to how they were, and he wanted to finish off like that. He reached down to try and touch himself, but one of Ketch’s hands shot up, off of Mick’s hips and grabbed his wrist. Before he could bite out a quick “fuck you,” he heard a gutteral snarl emerge from Ketch’s lips, and Mick  _ liked  _ that. He reached out with his other hand, and Ketch grabbed that one too. He pushed Mick’s wrists down into the cushion above Mick’s head, and adjusted himself to rest on Mick’s legs so he couldn’t really thrust up. He was pinned to the couch, and utterly helpless. 

 

He swallowed hard, and shot Ketch a glare. “ _ Blow me _ ,” he growled back, and heard a small laugh from Ketch. “All you had to do was ask.” Ketch let go of Mick’s wrists, and dropped back down to between Mick’s legs. He took Mick into his mouth again, and they settled back into how they were. He couldn’t think about Ketch, and he reached out to try and grab at Ketch, but his nails scraped along Ketch’s shoulders, and he could feel Ketch moan around him, and Mick let out noises of his own. A litany of “oh God, right there, God, Arthur, please, fuck, yes,  _ God _ ” escaped his mouth, and heat coiled in the pit of his stomach. Brokenly he panted, “Arthur, I- fuck- I’m gonna- shit,  _ please, Arthur _ -” and he can hardly process what was happening, let alone warn Ketch, and he cried out as he came, the faint sound of Ketch coughing and choking hitting his ears. He was clutching at Ketch’s shoulders, bright red scratches being left behind. 

 

When he came down from his bliss, he was breathing heavily. Everything had hit him hard, and it had  _ hurt _ , but it was the best feeling he’d felt in months, if not years. He looked down at Ketch, who had sat up and was working on finishing himself off. Mick reached out and Ketch scooted closer to Mick so he could take over for Ketch. He started working Ketch vigorously, and it didn’t take long for Ketch to be reduced to nothing more but moans and groans. He felt Ketch rest his hands on Mick’s shoulders, and he started pumping himself in and out of Mick’s grip. After a while of going like that, Mick could feel his arm starting to get tired, and he looked up to watch Ketch’s face. It looked strained, as if he was struggling. (He made a mental note to crack some sort of joke about it later -  _ “having troubles keeping it up, Ketch?” _ ) 

 

He noticed that Ketch’s thrusts were getting shorter and sharper, and he didn’t have time to react before a familiar wet heat slammed against his stomach. Ketch was gripping onto Mick’s shoulders, and his eyes were squeezed shut. While he recovered, Mick leaned over and grabbed the tissue box that had been sitting on the coffee table and started cleaning up the mess Ketch had left on him. “Good lad.” Mick finally heard Ketch speak up and he paused for a second, watching with wide eyes as Ketch opened his. “Good?” Ketch nodded. “Yeah,” he replied softly. “Okay, well, I’m going to go take a shower to clean…  _ this  _ off, and then I think I’m going to head to bed.” 

 

Ketch nodded. “Would you mind if I joined you?” Mick smiled. “I’d like that.” 


End file.
